


Truth is a spy's death

by Fogfire



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers Family, Developing Friendships, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 09:48:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16658882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fogfire/pseuds/Fogfire
Summary: Y/N has been a spy for as long as she lives. And as long as she knows, the lies and the deception have been her life just as the second skin she's wearing. She's the Chameleon, someone who can never be trusted and never trusts anyone. But after that last mission, she knows some things must change. But how if she doesn't know how to change herself?She turns to the only person she considers a friend. Sharon Carter. Asks for a job, time to reconsider.But even as a Personal Assistent to Peter Parker in particular and the Avengers, life isn't easy. Add insomnia and the fact that she keeps spilling the truth around Bucky Barnes and you get a whole nother level of chaos.Her mission: make the Avengers bond. Her problem? a lot of people want her dead.





	1. Chapter 1

**2 months 11 days till the trial - Chapter I**

A deserted train station in the middle of nowhere. No camera and only two lights, giving just enough light for the train operator to see someone standing directly beneath it.

“The train should be coming in five minutes,” you say and your breath turns into fog. 

You don’t get an answer.

“Do you want me to wait with you?”

He shakes his head and steps under the light. You swallow thickly as the soft light casts shadows on his olive skin, the soft orange glow making his black hair look even darker.

“Listen, you’re going to be safe,” you tell him, your voice steady because you need it to be. He’s not the one doubting your word. You are.

You need him to be safe.

He shrugs.

You want to step forward and kiss him. It’s not the first time you want to do that, but like all the times before you decide against it. 

“Just go,” he tells you, his voice heavy with an accent that you had asked him to use, “You can’t risk being seen with me.”

You want to argue that no one would be able to spot you in the darkness, that there’s still plenty of time until the train arrives. Three minutes and twenty two seconds to be exact.

But he’s right and you’re doing nothing more but adding to your misery by staying.

You turn around without another word and walk away. He’s not looking back and when you reach a safe spot and turn around to watch him, he has his gaze fixated on the clock hanging above his head.

It’s such a simple thing. Drop someone off at the train station. But this here is not simple at all. And it’s not that you love him but aren’t allowed. It’s not the fact that his father is one of the most dangerous drug lords in the area or that you have faked his death just one hour and forty five minutes ago.

It’s the fact that by doing so you have painted a target on your very head.

And as the seconds trickle by you wait. For the sound of a shot ringing out, for his body to drop where he’s standing, for your plan to go wrong.

You are a spy. And plan’s like this never work out. Not even in movies.

But the train arrives and he steps in without looking back.

And you realize that maybe, just maybe, there’s something more painful to watching a loved one die. Watching them go, unable to ever see them again.

 

  * 15 hours and 23 minutes later-



“You can’t be serious,” Sharon laughs as Steve holds the door open, “He really sad that?”

“I would never lie about Bucky. It just seems his flirting skills have vanished.”

“Maybe he was just nervous? Was she pretty?”

“As a taken guy I’m not allowed to have an opinion on that,” Steve smirks as Sharon lightly slaps his arm, “What about your love live by the way?” He changes the topic from Bucky to her and Sharon groans.

“That bad?” Steve pulls her chair back and and takes a seat himself, “Didn’t you tell me about that cute guy working in PR at your new job?”

“Forget about him. He wasn’t so cute about further inspection.”

Steve pulls a face that switches back to a smile when the waitress walks over.

She’s a young girl with thick round glasses and dreads. Sharon is sure she has never seen her before and makes a point in looking at her name tag.

“Hi Debbie.”

“Hi!” Debbie’s fingers shake as she fumbles with the small notepad, “Do you.. Do you know what you’d like to order?”

“What’s the day’s special?” Steve asks.

“Oh, I… I think it’s apple pie. I, uhm, I can take a look.”

“Oh, don’t bother,” Sharon smiles at her, “We take the special and a cup of coffee each. Can you give us two more slices to go?”

“Of course.”

She stumbles on her way back to the table and Sharon fears for the coffee, but she catches herself, smiling shyly as she places their order on the table before leaving again.

Sharon opens her mouth to say something to Steve when she catches sight of a note scribbled on her napkin. She pulls it out from under her fork to read it.

“What is it?”

Steve takes it away before she can react.

“I think you are very cute. Call me maybe? Wow, Sharon, looks like you’re love life is about to- Hey, is everything okay?”

She forces herself to smile and takes the note back. There’s a little doodle of an animal right above the phone number. She doesn’t have to look again to know what it is.

A chameleon.

“Let’s not talk about it,” she demands, folds the napkin and tucks it into her purse.

Steve smiles knowingly but oh, he knows nothing.

 

  * 5 hours and 34 minutes later-



“Are you crazy?” Sharon’s voice has that touch of exasperation she always gets when she doesn’t want to deal with whatever’s next.

“Am I supposed to answer that?” You check your reflection in the window of a pharmacy and press the phone closer to your ear when a police car drives by, sirens blaring.

“What did you say?”

“I better not repeat it,” Sharon tells you and sighs, “Where are you right now?”

“Outside your apartment.

“What?”

You hear fabric rustling, but don’t turn around to look at her. Instead you watch her through the reflection in the window, the way she holds the curtains back and cranes her neck to see everyone on the street.

Another sigh from her end of the line. Any other day you might have laughed that Sharon takes it personally that she can’t find you in the masses. 

“What do you want?” Now her tone has changed from exasperated to serious. She has pulled the curtains back as if to put a barrier between the two of you. 

“I need a job.”

“You- Seriously, who do you think I am?”

“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t necessary.”

“What did you do?”

“The less you know the better.”

“Who wants you dead?”

“Half the planet, Sharon, what else is new?”

You smile at your reflection and lick some lipstick from your front teeth. 

“I can’t get you a job without information. I can’t vouch for you without knowing more.”

“I’m not gonna talk about this over phone.”

Another sigh. Is this really the Sharon you used to know? You don’t want to beg, so you do the opposite.

“I don’t want to play the ‘I saved your life’-card here, Sharon, but I did save your life.”

You pause to let the memory unfold, adding more weight to your words than any explanation ever could.

“So?”

“Fine, I’ll buzz you in.”

-

She waits in front of her own closed door, arms crossed, but wearing a fuzzy leisure suit. You’re pretty sure she has a gun. 

“I brought ice-cream,” you tell her, holding out the box for her. 

It’s her favorite, one of the few things she has actually told you herself. But that doesn’t ease the mood.

“What are you doing here?” She asks, her voice still as heavily guarded as it had been from the beginning.

You clench your teeth before giving in to the shameful truth.

“I have nowhere else to go.”

And it wouldn’t be Sharon if that did not move her. She steps aside and lets you enter.

-

Passing her a note in the coffee shop aside, you haven’t seen Sharon in over a year. And even then it had been in passing during work. Now, being in her apartment, seeing her as she is when she’s off work, you realize what you’ve missed. 

Frames scatter the walls. So many people, some of them in photographs, some of them painted - you stop at the painting of a beautiful woman and reach out your hand to touch it, your fingers caressing the glass. “Do you miss Peggy?” You ask.

“Always,” Sharon tells you. There’s a soft sound when she puts two bowls of ice-cream on the table.

“Sit,” she demands, “We have to talk.”

You take a seat, marvelling at the stiffness of this situation.

You’re usually great at this, making conversations, making friends… But this is different and it’s not your sudden lack of talent. It’s because Sharon knows who you are.

She looks at you with too much knowledge and it scares you.

“What happened?” She asks and you heave a sigh.

“You don’t have enough Clearance-”

“Bullshit.”

“What?”

“Bullshit,” Sharon repeats and puts a spoonful of ice-cream into her mouth, “You’ve never cared about Clearance. You’re just not trusting me.”

“That’s true,” you admit.

“You will have to if you want my help.”

“Are you blackmailing me?”

Sharon puts down her spoon to stare at you.

“You have the audacity to ask me that?” She asks, “You blackmailed me first. Remember? Who brought up the life saving thing?”

“You weren’t willing to help me even though you’re my friend!” You exclaim, “I was desperate.”

“I’m your friend?” There’s too much surprise in her voice. You want to get up and run, but what you’ve said is true. You have nowhere else to go right now. Or at least - there’s no place you really want to be right now.

You ram your spoon into your ice-cream and push the cold, sweet stuff into your mouth, wishing you could just choke on it. But no, that would be too easy.

“I thought the Chameleon has no friends.”

“The Chameleon also doesn’t save lives, if you wanna play rumours,” you snap back.

“Sorry,” Sharon looks down at her ice-cream, “Why do you even need my help? Don’t you have a handler.”

“Don’t trust her.”

She looks up again, her eyes boring into yours.

“You don’t trust her or does she not trust you?”

You don’t answer that because you don’t need to. No one trusts the Chameleon. That’s one rumour that’s true.

 

“What happened?” She asks again and you want to lie or say nothing at all, but the way she looks at you tells you that’s non negotiable.

“I made a mistake,” you tell her, “Someone got killed who could have been valuable. Son of a drug lord or something. Drug lord is in jail but money is missing. They kicked me out of the mission because they needed someone to take the blame. You get me a job that sounds like a downgrade and everyone’s happy.”

Sharon heaves a sigh.

“Look, I’m happy you want to get a less dangerous job, but I feel like you’re not telling me everything.”

“Sharon, I adore you but that’s all I’m gonna say.”

“Fine and what story do I get? What do I tell my friends? Who is looking for a job? The Chameleon? Someone else?”

You smile. At least she’s getting active.

“So, here’s my new ID,” you put the card on the table, “I have a degree in Psychology, worked as a shrink but specialised on animals. I want to take a break from that because my last patient died and I’m thinking about writing a book. I need an easy job that allows me to write on the side, but not forever, just to get a break from the shrink thing.. How about a secretary for Stark? I would even make coffee for that Cap-guy you were with.”

“They are both taken,” Sharon tells you and you make a sound that’s part disgust and part sadness.

Sharon understands immediately.

“Oh honey, you could have just told me you’ve got a broken heart.”

“I hate that term.”

She smiles and gets up.

“More ice-cream for you,” she announces, “And wrack your brain cells. Animal shrink? Are you serious?”

 

\- 6 hours and 56 minutes later-

It still feels stiff in the morning, this friendship. As if it has folds you will never smooth out.

“This feels like you’re going to change sites,” Sharon tells you, “Again.”

“I’m not sure if I’d mind,” you admit, “It didn’t kill me the last time, why would it now?”

“Yeah, but last time you went from bad to good. And now you’re thinking of pro and civilian. Can you even do that?”

“Please, I’m the master of Covert Operations,” you tell her with more confidence than you feel. But that’s how it works. Fake it till you make it.

“I’m more concerned that you fail to memorize. What’s my name?”

“Tallah,” Sharon grins, “And we were roommates in College.”

“I made you dye your hair…”

“And I made you date your first boyfriend,” she finishes your sentence before chuckling, “Sounds nice.” She takes a sip of her coffee, but her sentence is left unfinished.

“But?”

“What?”

“That sounded like a but.”

She sighs. “You’re good. I just… It feels too easy. Too, I don’t know, whacky? An animal shrink? You want to write a book in three months? That aside, you think you can play a civilian under the noses of not only the Avengers but the top Agents of Shield?”

“I can’t work without a challenge,” you tell her but she’s looking at you as if she’s found you out.

You hope she hasn’t. You don’t want anyone knowing that for once you wouldn’t mind to be found out.

-

4 hours and 37 minutes later

“Agent Y/N,” Nick Fury’s voice still sounds the same, “Did you really think I wouldn’t recognize you?”

“What gave me away?”

“I don’t forget an ass like yours,” he throws your own words back at you. Words you had used when you had discovered his identity years ago on a different mission.

You smile and he laughs.

“What are you here for? Revenge? We had a good time, but you never seemed like a jealous one.”

You grin. It has always been easy with Nick. You feel weirdly delighted, as if he had created a bubble of carefreeness for just the two of you.

“How about a Challenge? Does that sound more like me?”

“It does,” he says, “and I think I have the right one for you.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. Might distract you from certain… drug dealers.”

Oh. Of course he had heard. And with nothing more but his words the bubble bursts.

He notices the shift in  your attitude, but that doesn’t surprise you. 

“I will make myself very clear, even though I don’t think it’s necessary. I will not allow a similar behaviour on my playground. Are we clear?”

“We are,” you agree.

“Good. As soon as you’ll start working here, you will notice that even though the Avengers are great at fighting together, they are not very good at living together.”

You raise an eyebrow and he elaborates.

“Stark isn’t a teamplayer when he doesn’t have to be. He’s supportive, but his ego gets in his way. And now that spider kid… if you so much as breathe in that kid’s direction, you’re on his bad side. He’s letting Barnes stay, as well as everyone else, but that doesn’t mean much. Barnes and Wilson constantly bicker like some old couple and if they don’t have the same enemy, they fight each other. Rogers mostly manages to balance them out, but he’s got a girlfriend now and that’s pulling him away. The dynamics are messed up. Normally I wouldn’t give a damn about it, because their fighting is still as it should be, but I need Romanoff and Rogers on a mission that might take them some time.”

“You fear they will kill each other while they’re gone?”

“Let’s be honest, Romanov is the teams mpuls control.”

“And Sharon?”

“Sharon isn’t a team member. She’s a friend and a supporter, but the Avengers are not her job.”

“So you’re making it mine?”

“You wanted an easy job.”

Yeah, for different reasons, you think, but Nick is looking at you in a way that only leaves one possible answer.

“Fine, but I’m gone after that mission.”

“I’m fine with that,” he says and shakes your hand on it.

Does it hurt that he doesn't try to make you stay? Yeah, a bit.


	2. Chapter 2

**2 months 9 days till the trial - Chapter II**

“What did he tell you?” Sharon asks when you meet up, handing you a cup of coffee.

“Nothing much,” you lie effortlessly. Yeah, you’re definitely back to being yourself. Doesn’t mean it feels good.

“And you’re gonna stay looking like this?” You follow her eyes down to your feet, clad int two vastly different socks.

“That’s my new look,” you tell her, “Just love me as I am.”

“But the colours,” she points out before waving off, “Alright, I’ll keep quiet about the socks.”

“Speaking of hair colours,” You change the topic before she can, “Are you ever going to change this shade of blond? You’d totally rock a warm auburn.”

Sharon rolls her eyes at that. “I’m not letting you talk me into a different hair colour. Again,” she adds for emphasis.

“Oh please, you underestimate me. I bet you five dollars you’re a different colour at the end of this month.”

“I’m gonna regret this, but I’m taking the bet. Nice glasses by the way.”

“Thanks,” you push them up your nose, “I got them in Sierra Leone.”

-

Sharon leads you through a door, up a staircase and through two other doors into a room that looks like it’s made for business only. Except there’s a kid sitting on one of the tables, peeling an orange. He looks up at you, smiles and wipes his hand on his trousers before holding it out for you.

“Peter Parker, nice to meet you, Ma’am.” 

“Tallah, I’m no Ma’am.” You shake his hand, telling him the fake name you’ve taken on for the time being.

“Sharon?” You look at her. She’s fighting a smirk.

“Peter here is in need of a personal assistant. He’s only around after school, which means you only work for him on afternoons and Saturday, the rest of the time you’re responsible for the well-being of the others. If Peter doesn’t need you right now, I will show you your room.”

“Oh, I’m… I’m going to eat my orange,” the kid tells you with that same awkward smile, “But, like, after that, maybe?”

“Of course. It won’t take long,” you tell him, putting on a smile with just the tiniest hint of uneasiness. You don’t want him to think you’re too much of a pro. After all the only reason you’re still alive is because people underestimate you. Constantly.

-

“You wanted a downgrade job,” Sharon explains as she leads you down another hallway.

“Do you hear me complaining?” You ask and she stops and turns on her heels. 

“Okay, what is going on?”

“Nothing that I haven’t told you already.”

“You’re telling me that you have no problem with entertaining a teenager? You? Excuse me but I call that bullshit. You’re one of the best spy’s I know. People speak of you the same way the speak of the black widow and you’re here taking care of a little kid?”

“Sharon, you’re exaggerating. No one speaks of the Chameleon the same way they speak of the black widow and that’s the reason I’m still alive. Can’t you just live with the fact that some guy broke my heart and I need a lot of ice cream and bad jobs to fix it?”

“Must have been one hell of a guy.” Sharon announces and you think of him, his back turned, illuminated by a lantern on that damned train station.

“You have no idea.”

 

\- 4 hours and 56 minutes later -

You’ve been alone with Peter for the rest of the day. Yes, Fury had told you that this job was about more than met the eye, but spy work is more than sneaking into rooms when no one’s looking. Spy work is about building a cover story that allows you to see and here more than you should. And building takes time.

But other than that there’s the fact that you’re feeling tired, not just because of your lack of sleep, but because of everything that had went down. Emotionally tired. And that’s the kind that kills you as a spy.

And it might sound weird, but spending your time with an innocent teen was exactly the kind of remedy you needed.

 

Peter Parker believes your every word as if it has to be the truth.

To him you are Tallah, trying her hand at a PA job while working on her first novel. A bit shy, a bit snarky and a bit clumsy, with a degree in psychology and a history of working at a italian restaurant.

“And that novel,” Peter asks for the millionth time, “How about you put a spaceship into it?”

“What kind did you have in mind?” You ask and hand him another piece. Today’s task: Finish his biology project. You are currently building a five foot DNA-particle with lego pieces.

“How about the Enterprise?”

“I don’t have the copyright?”

“Name it differently?”

“Too obvious.”

“Different size but same purpose?”

“Depends. Are we kicking the werewolves out or are we keeping them?”

Peter freezes as he ponders that question.

“It would be cool to keep them, but what about full moons?”

“You’re not really writing a book about werewolves in space, are you?” A voice asks from the doorway. 

The guy is handsome, but his eyes are guarded as they watch you. 

You smile innocently, “I am very open in my creative process.”

He snorts. “Stark asked me to call you, Kid. Something down in the lab.”

“Oh thanks Mr. Barnes, Sir,” Peter jumps down from the ladder and waves at you, “See you later or tomorrow, Tallah, Ma’am.”

And just like that, he’s gone, leaving you with the other guy.

 

Of course you know who he is, but you decided from the start that your cover story doesn’t know. Or rather, she doesn’t really care.

“Stark said you’re supposed to help all of us?”

“As an assistant, yes. Anything I can help you with?”

“Can you cook?”

“Mediocre, at best, but edible.”

“Fair enough, I’m supposed to cook today, you can help me.”

Helping him turns into him cooking and you watching after you’ve mistaken chili for paprika powder and almost turned the onions into coal.

“So you don’t know how to cook?”

“I make a mean bowl of instant ramen,” you tell him and he actually laughs at that, turning serious the next second.

You notice the shift and react appropriately, step forward and take the spoon. 

“What do I do?”

 

It’s almost funny how quickly he adapts and accepts your identity. Almost, because this is the Winter Soldier and shouldn’t he be more cautious?

You know you’re good, but it’s kinda sad how he has already accepted the fact that you’re just a clumsy wannabe-writer who’s shit at cooking. Or is he just trying to lure you into a trap?

He’s too quiet to tell much and that’s what keeps you on your toes. Or at least additionally to the fact that you’re always on your toes.

“Oh no, Barnes is cooking,” someone exclaims from the door. Barnes pulls a face and you walk around him to look at the new guy.

“Oh, hey, someone’s helping?” He grins and offers his hand, “Sam Wilson, but just call me Sam. I’m your go to guy around here.”

“For what? Birdseed?” Barnes bites back before you can answer and Sam rolls his eyes at you.

“Don’t listen to the grump. He’s just mad he has to cook once in a while. Did you make sure it turned out well?”

“Actually,” you begin, only to be interrupted by Barnes again. “I taught her how to cook.”

“Wow, humble much?” You ask him and he flinches. 

“Sorry,” you offer him a smile as apology, before turning to Sam, “But phrasing it nicely, he’s right, I can’t cook for shit.”

“Well, if you want to call that nice phrasing you should watch your mouth around the Captain,” Sam jokes and winks at you before grabbing plates. 

“Care to help me set the table?”

“Sure. How many?”

“I think we’re seven. Nat’s not here, I haven’t seen Clint for days and I’m not sure if Bruce eats something that has spice in it.”

“Good choice, I think I dropped a bottle of chili powder in it,” you tell him and Sam raises an eyebrow at you before bringing the milk to the table.

-

Sam has been right with his guess, not that it matters, because Rogers and Barnes are loading their plates as if they are planning to eat their body weight in Chili. To your surprise Peter takes almost the same amount.

“Fast metabolism,” he tells you, “I eat a lot.”

“I will try to remember that,” you tell him, “A personal assistant is also responsible for snacks.”

Peter’s smile is bright enough to outshine the sun so you force yourself to look away.

Stark seems to just have waited for his chance to grab your attention.

“So, Tallah, care to tell us about your last job?”

Everyone turns to look at you. Acting nonchalant in stress situations is key in spy work, but you’ve seen it coming, you are prepared.

“Yeah, sure, what do you want to know?”

“You got a degree in Psychology, isn’t that right?”

“Yeah, I worked as an animal shrink.”

Five pairs of eyes look confused.

“What? That’s a respectable position. Do you know how many traumatised animals there are? Unfortunately I fell in love with my last patient, Sock. It broke my heart when she died.”

“Sock?” Stark’s voice is flat and you nod.

“Yeah, she was an old Golden Retriever Lady who had quite an unfortunate Sock addiction, hence the name. No matter what we did, she never stopped eating them. I still have some single socks from our therapy sessions.”

Stark looks at Sharon, who shrugs. “I said she’s a good worker, I never said she’s not a weirdo.”

“Do you have a picture?” Peter asks and you eagerly pull out your phone. And just like that, the ice is broken.

Funny how easily you are accepted when you don’t try to be perfect.

 

\- 6 hours and 9 minutes later-

You’re lying awake, debating whether you should give in and take a sleeping pill or face even more hours of sleeplessness. 

You’ve tried Yoga, relaxing music, a cup of tea… but whenever you close your eyes, you see him, standing there, waiting for the train.

The next time your brain stops at the question of taking that pill or not you simply slip out of bed and walk out the room. Sure, that doesn’t solve your problem, but it might keep you sane a little bit longer.

You walk towards the kitchen and decide on a whim that you’re going to try that famous trick of warm milk. If that won’t help either you’re going to take that pill.

This isn’t sleeping in a hostile environment. You’re safe here.

But you still take the longer route towards the refrigerator to avoid walking past windows.

 

When you close the door of the microwave, you see the reflection of Barnes in it. You act like you don’t see him, mainly because Civilians don’t check every reflective surface just to make sure they aren’t followed.

He’s standing there, completely still, watching you while you in turn yawn in that way you’ve practiced so often it sounds realistic. You stare at the glowing red numbers counting down and yawn again.

Barnes hasn’t moved.

The microwave beeps and you take your milk out, hissing when your fingers touch the hot cup. You turn around and flinch, sucking in a breath as you play being surprised by Barnes’ quiet approach.

“You scared me,” you tell him, licking the spilt milk from you fingers, “You’re really quiet.”

“You’re a spy,” he tells you and it’s not a question. He’s stating a fact.

 

This isn’t the first time you’ve been made. You used to love that moments when every word you said, every single gesture could decide on the outcome. 

But right now all you feel is exhaustion weighing you down. It’s the same feeling of being tired of this all that befell you in Fury’s office or on the way back from the train station that night. It’s all the same, again and again and all you want is an out.

“What gave me away?” You ask instead and he blinks in surprise. He hasn’t expected you to be honest. Well, neither did you.

“You move like a veteran. Scared of the windows, stuff like that.”

“Ouch,” you take a sip of your milk, “That’s a rookie mistake.”

He watches you as you take another sip, but does not move.

“Want some milk?” You ask and he stiffens, funnily enough.

“No,” his voice is harsh, as if you’ve just offended him.

“Something wrong with it?” You ask back and he pulls a face.

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s something,” you disagree. “Is milk a trigger memory?” You guess and his mouth turns into a thin line.

“If I’m being honest, you can be honest too,” you tell him, “And if it’s a trigger word, I’m not gonna use it around you.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m a decent human being,” you tell him and turn to leave.

He stays where he is, quietly watching you go.

“And before you ask: Fury wants me to keep that spy thing secret,” you tell him, “So, it would be nice if you could keep it to yourself.”

You leave without another word and when you reach your room you take that sleeping pill without thinking twice.

-


End file.
